Inevitable
by secretstar
Summary: Future. Literati. "He keeps waiting for the inevitable to come. What happens when it doesn't?" Sometimes things just work out. (one-shot, complete)


**Notes**: RoryJess. Future. Thanks to Elise for beta-ing me and for lending her support. She rocks. [You rock Elise! My socks! ;) ] The books in this fic aren't mine: Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs (Judi Barrett), A Pair of Blue Eyes (Thomas Hardy), The Snows of Kilimanjaro (Ernest Hemingway). Gilmore Girls is a production of the WB and the ; alas, it is not mine. I don't own, so no suing. Okay? Okay. Read and review, that's why you're here, right?

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The snow falls down from the rooftops, sprinkling glitter on the ground in their descent. It touches, lingers, and then melts. It's always temporary.

It is on a cold February day that he begins to prepare himself for the inevitable.

He's waiting for it, bracing himself for the initial shock, and for the aftermath.

_He knows the end is near._

It was only meant to be temporary anyway.

It is an old story, worn out and weather beaten; a tale whose beginnings were sometimes different, but the ending always proves to be the same.

_It's not going to work._

_I can't be with you. _

_It's over. _

It comes out onto the surface as lies, insecurities, and infidelities; they are the masks for the simple truth of his so-called relationships. And that's okay with him; he didn't expect anything less.

_It was only temporary anyway._

So he takes what he can get, doesn't ask for anything more, and waits for the inevitable.

He waits, and waits, and waits.

It is coming, he can feel it in his bones—it's like a second instinct.

She will come to her senses one of these days; _it_ is the inevitable.

And that's okay with him; it's grown to be a somewhat comforting thought. He'll never be tied down, never have to worry about the 'what ifs', because it'll always prove to be the same ending.

_He hasn't been wrong yet. _

It's been like this all of his life; he doesn't think it will change any time soon. It started in first grade with Suzy (whose last name he cannot remember) when he'd forgotten to give her a box of chocolate on Valentine's Day. She'd pouted, thrown the G.I. Joe valentine in his face, and walked away screaming something about how she never wanted to see him again.

He remembers shrugging, picking up the card, and using it as a bookmark in his "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" library book.

Years passed by unnoticed, as well as the breakups of the faceless girls in his life. Their names are lost to him now, and he doesn't care. _It was only temporary anyway._ The only thing that sticks with him is the countless phrases that he remembers saying, or have been said to him.

_I can't be with you._

_We're better off as friends. _

_It's not going to work out. _

_It's over._

It doesn't matter; _it_ is the inevitable.

He wonders why it's taken so long for her to figure _it_ out.

A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts and makes him groan. He gets up from the sofa near the window, and goes to open the door. He turns the knob and is greeted by the February wind and her.

"Hi," she says with a scarf shielding her mouth, muffling her voice.

"Hi," he replies back, ushers her inside, and closes the door.

She shakes off the white glitter and goes to unzip the front of her coat. She manages to shrug it off, and then proceeds to throw it on the couch. "Oh!" she says, startling him a bit by the sound of her voice.

"Hmm?"

She looks up at him and grins, a pink and rosy cheeked grin.

She leans over, reaches inside her coat pocket, and pulls out a book.

_The Snows of Kilimanjaro, _first edition.

She holds it out in front of her, but all he can do is stare.

When he finally comes to his senses, he reaches out, takes the book, and kisses her cheek.

"Thanks Rory," he says with affection; this causes her to smile and nod.

"Oh, I have something for you too …" he remembers suddenly. She raises a brow, and watches as he disappears into the bedroom. He comes out a little bit later, a red box in tow, and something concealed by his back.

"What's that?" she asks, skeptical.

He gives her the first item and watches as her eyes smile at him.

"Ooh, chocolate!" she squeals, making him laugh. "What else do you have?"

"What makes you think I have anything else?" he jokes lightly.

She ponders for a minute before retorting, "Because your other hand has been missing ever since you walked out of that room. So unless you went in there to saw it off, and have decided not to spare me the gruesome image, I want to see what you have hidden behind your back."

He smiles, reaches over to take her hand, and brings his originally concealed hand forward to drop something in her palm. "Here," he whispers.

_A Pair of Blue Eyes._

"Ooh, thanks! I've been meaning to get this," she smiles.

"Better than chocolate?" he asks.

"Much. Chocolate and flowers are overrated anyway," she says matter-of-factly before leaning over to kiss him. He smiles against her lips at the comment, and thinks that it's good to know for future references.

Years pass by unnoticed, but he thinks that everything is different now. The sidewalks are now cracked from years of being stomped on, the books on their bookshelf keep piling up, and the music of long ago has been forgotten.

Everything is different, but the February wind still greets him like an old friend.

It's been years, and she still hasn't figured it out yet.

Somewhere along the way, he figures that maybe she'll never figure _it_ out.

And it's okay.

He's stopped waiting.


End file.
